


the undone and the divine

by ruination_fangs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Crimson Flower Route, F/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Nudity, Post-Canon, Trans Male Character, nothing sexual but T for sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruination_fangs/pseuds/ruination_fangs
Summary: Byleth has always had a way of making even the mundane feel godly.(Or, preparing for bed is a nighttime ritual Edelgard is coming to enjoy more and more.)
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	the undone and the divine

**Author's Note:**

> (formerly titled "we'll build our altar here" - changed to avoid confusion with another fic of the same name)

Recently Edelgard finds late evening to be her favorite time of day. 

There is nothing enjoyable about war, and Edelgard is thankful every day that it is over, and yet peace is its own ordeal. Her days are filled with meetings, hearings, and planning for a future that is still uncertain. The endless stream of visitors and documents and decisions is as much a weight on her shoulders as her armor was, and as the structure of Fódlan slowly begins to change, it's increasingly difficult to find moments to relax. 

She didn't expect it would be easy. She knew, from the start, that tearing down the old systems and building something new would be the work of decades, not years. But perhaps a part of her had hoped, now that the physical conflict is over, for gentler days. The daunting workload ahead of her makes her feel sometimes as if she should still be living in a war camp, not in the cushy, comfortable walls of the palace in Enbarr.

So to be able to place her duties aside at the end of the day, if only for a few hours, comes as a fresh relief every night - and even more so when Byleth is at her side. She rarely feels more energized than when he appears at sunset to walk her to her chambers, and never feels freer than when the door shuts behind them and they are left alone to prepare for bed. It's the closest she can get right now to escaping life as nobility, shedding the shackles of her title along with each piece of regalia she removes.

Her crown is the first thing to go, and Byleth always takes it off with the utmost care. Sometimes it threatens to tangle in her hair, but he works it off gently, setting it aside and then freeing her hair from its tight wrap on the sides of her head. It keeps some of its loops as it tumbles down her shoulders and back, and he combs through it with his fingers before handing Edelgard her brush. He knows her hair is the one aspect of her appearance she truly cares to spend time on; he waits.

When she's done she brushes her hair back over her shoulders with the backs of her hands, and turns her attention to her dress. Byleth steps forward then and gently pushes her hands aside. He undoes the buttons slowly, one by one, letting the fabric open naturally with the removal of each clasp. It's a somewhat complicated garment, but he has long since learned where each button and buckle lies, and he unfastens them with practiced expertise.

These days Edelgard doesn't shy away when he pushes the dress down her arms and lets it fall to the floor. She stands before him, calm, unworried, as he takes the same care in removing her undershirt and baring her scratched and scarred skin. He has never flinched, not once, at the ugly marks that mar her torso - small and surgical and long-since healed into thin lines, or more recent, jagged and deep. Indeed, he treats them almost with reverence as he runs his fingertips over the raised and knotted skin. His hands are cold against her chest, and Edelgard shivers.

It's tempting to let this continue, Byleth's fingers ghosting over her skin and making her tremble with the anticipation of his touch, but neither of them forgets their purpose for long. Byleth's hands withdraw and he moves to shrug his cloak off, but stops when smaller hands reach up to push it off his shoulders for him. Edelgard gathers it in her arms and hangs it on a hook behind her, pausing to drape her discarded clothing over her desk chair before returning to where Byleth waits.

Unlike Edelgard, Byleth has never hesitated at this part. He works the shirt over his head and comes away with it draped down one arm, shoulders and stomach and arms bare to her. His chest bindings remain, the tight fabric he uses to wrap his breasts almost the same color as his skin, and Edelgard steps forward now. She kisses his sternum before carefully unwrapping the binding and sliding it off.

Byleth takes a deep breath, his chest expanding in front of her. He's reassured her that it's not too tight - he has always been rather flat-chested, after all, and he takes advantage of it - but Edelgard can only imagine how uncomfortable the binding must be, the heat and the pressure, and she hopes he's not hurting himself.

Once he's fully undressed she leans down further to press another kiss between his breasts, and cups them as best she can in her hands. She feels more than hears Byleth sigh against her when she rubs gently at the flesh, trying to massage away a bit of the ache. His skin is so warm under her hands, slick with a little bit of sweat and yet still so soft.

Eventually he brings a hand to her shoulder to gently end her ministrations. Edelgard gives his collar bone one last kiss and steps back so Byleth can kneel in front of her. He runs his hands down her sides as he does so, over her hips and thighs and down to her knees before returning to her waist. She shivers again when he slips his thumbs under the waistband of her tights and starts to roll them down, over the scars on her thighs and shins, the soft skin and hard muscle of her legs.

When the fabric reaches her feet she steps out of it, one foot and then the other, and Byleth runs his palms up her calves, admiring the strength there. Despite the much calmer lifestyle they've been living lately, years of fighting have left both of them with a solid amount of muscle, tinged now with the softness that comes with more sedentary days. Byleth still trains when he has the time, but he knows Edelgard finds it harder to escape her responsibilities for that long, though she often laments that she can't join him.

She lets him continue until he must have caressed every inch of bare skin, and then her heart does a flip when she feels him press a kiss to the front of her thigh.

"Byleth," she murmurs, running her fingers through his short, dark hair. "Come here." A request from his lover, not a command from his emperor, but he obeys just the same.

As soon as he's standing Edelgard presses closer to him and leans up for a kiss, firm but gentle and slow. The fabric of his pants tickles against her bare legs, and his modest breasts almost rest above hers as he wraps his arms around her back. They linger that way, too engrossed in each other's lips to continue their task, until Edelgard's hand drifts down to tug at the waistband of Byleth's trousers.

Pulling away just enough to speak, she says breathlessly, "Let's get these off." Byleth nods.

They make short work of the pants; Edelgard is much more to the point, lowering the fabric so that Byleth can step out of it on his own. She's still a little red-faced from the way he always admires her legs. How can he display his devotion so openly, so _physically,_ without any trace of embarrassment? He's been much more emotive since he lost the power of the goddess, yet many of the oddities of his character haven't changed, and Edelgard is only more intrigued the more of him she discovers.

When she straightens again she lets her eyes drift down Byleth's body as his do hers. They're equally naked now, left in only their smallclothes - Byleth's thicker and looser, in the style usually worn by men, and Edelgard's a bit more form-fitting and revealing.

It's usually up to Edelgard where they go from here. Some nights she is simply too tired to do anything but dress for bed and collapse against her pillow; others, she lets him know quite plainly that no more clothes will be needed nor admitted in their shared bed. Byleth usually has little preference, save for seeing her wishes come to fruition, whatever they may be.

Tonight, when she doesn't make a move, he steps aside to pick up the nightclothes laid out on the bed. They're modest but thin, to account for the nights getting warmer, and Edelgard readily accepts them.

"Do you want help?" Byleth asks, watching her instead of reaching for his own simple nightshirt.

Edelgard shakes her head. "You've done more than enough, my love."

Truthfully, she wouldn't mind having his hands on her again - but being dressed is not quite the same as being undressed, and it hardly takes a few seconds for her to pull on the nightgown anyway.

Byleth dresses just as quickly and draws back the bed covers for her. He always waits until she is comfortably situated before climbing in himself and dragging the blankets back up and over them.

It's a shame, Edelgard frequently thinks at this point, to waste this precious time they have together with something as trivial as sleeping. There are nights she refuses to do so. But Byleth, despite his faltering social skills, has always had an uncanny talent for reading people. He knows better than she does when she needs to sleep, and he wraps his arms around her with a sense of finality.

"Tomorrow," Edelgard says, nestled up against the softness of his chest, "I will tell Hubert that all business is to be finished by sundown, and then we can dine together. No interruptions." In this moment, she feels acutely that this is something that needs to happen, ministers and meetings be damned. She's tired of her time spent with Byleth being confined to these short spaces, as if it is an afterthought and not her greatest personal priority, her greatest joy in these stubbornly slow-moving times.

Byleth breathes against her hair, "I'd like that."

"As would I," Edelgard murmurs. And as much as she would also like to stay awake and talk - terse though Byleth still is these days - the circles he's rubbing against her back have already lulled her into a calm and drowsy state, such that the pleasant thoughts in her head don't quite make it to her mouth.

She dozes, and falls asleep looking forward to tomorrow.


End file.
